


Honor

by olivemartini



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Book 1, Canon Death, Character Study, F/M, Game of Thrones - Freeform, Ned's thoughts before he dies, Season 1, it's sad idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 18:51:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11973501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivemartini/pseuds/olivemartini
Summary: These are not my gods, he thinks, standing on the steps in front of the crowd that hates him.  These are not my gods, an they cannot punish me.





	Honor

He has seen men die.

Many of the men died at his own hand, actually, but Ned had thought that all was fair in war, and did not trouble himself over it much.  What he had done he had done with honor, and he had done it for the good of the realm, and for the most part, the people and his house were safer for what he had taken upon himself to do.   _Where is your honor now, Ned?_ He thinks, standing on the steps in front of that crowd, listening to the jeers and searching for a friendly face and finding none.  He can only see Sansa, smiling encouragingly, and the face beside her that belongs to the boy king, the monster that his little girl must marry because of her father's mistakes.   _Where has your honor gotten you, other than with a son on his way to wage war that he does not know how to win and a busted leg, and only to be dragged in front of the crowd to confess to crimes that he did not commit, but he must confess them, because they hold Sansa and Sansa is not like Arya, she will not understand that these people will not be swayed with pretty words and trusting eyes, he must say this to keep her from taking up residence in the cell he just vacated._

"In the eyes of gods and men," he says, but  _these are not my gods, and they cannot punish me, not this false seven and these fools who follow them, not if they are as just as the people say they are._

As it turns out, though, the gods do not need any help with the punishng, not when Joffrey is so eager for pain and fear that he practically relishes with every word of the command, speaking of the soft hearts of the lady and his mother and demanding the traitors head.

 _Ah, Sansa,_ he thinks, when he hears her cry out, when he hears her scream out his name, call him daddy and beg for his life.  She has not said daddy since she was very young, and a spike of pain drives into his chest at the thought, because he had made his children grow up much faster than might have been wise.  How old was she when she stopped calling him daddy, stopped calling the gaurds and servants by their names and started saying "father" and adressing them with proper titles?  And now she was here, right in the heart of the lions den, and about to marry a boy that would only serve to make her miserable.  Ned chances a look at her again, and their eyes meet, a moment that he both despises and is grateful for.   _oh, Sansa, Sansa, what have I done to you?_

He thinks of his other children- Robb leading the bannerman, Jon on the wall, Bran without the work of his legs and Rickon to young to understand any of it, and Arya, Arya he had seen somewhere in the crowd and then had melted away just as fast.  Ned had been nothing but grateful for this glimpse, to see her alive and whole and with needle strapped to her leg, and is takes a moment to pray to the gods that she has the sense to flee, as fast and as far as she is able.   _Run, child,_ he thinks.   _And for god's sake, whatever you do, don't look don't watch, just close your eyes and think of better things._ He remembers what she had told him, lessons from her dancing instructor that had been parroted back at him as a reason for everything-  _every bruise is a lesson, fear cuts deeper than swords, you must remember these things, Arya, and keep them close to you until you make it back to Winterfell, and only then can you grieve._

He can still here Sansa screaming, her voice somehow louder than all the innocent people in front of him who are crying out for his blood, or maybe that is only because she is so familiar.  Joffrey is grinning, but Ned will not look at him, will not give him the satisfaction, but he takes pleasure in seeing the panic building in Cersei's face, a panic that comes because she knows what this will mean.   _In the game of thrones,_ she had told him, free advice that he had not had the wisdom to listen to,  _you either win or you die._

This is the moment where she begins to lose, and she and Ned both know it, even if no one else does.  

The crowd behind him parts, and Ned knows who is coming. The executioner, come to kill him, with Joffrey too much of a boy to carry out his own commands.   _Ah, Robert,_ Ned thinks, this last thought of his true kind and brother that he had loved more than life even now, even though it was the death of both of them,  _how could you have ever thought this bastard belonged to you?_

A Lannister king.  The thought more than anything makes Ned want to weep, because everything that they had fought for so long ago seem to be for nothing, if this boy were to inherit the throne.  But he does not cry, does not fight, just closes his eyes and bows his head.

 _I have lived a life of honor,_ He thinks, and remembers what it felt like to hold his lady Catelyn in his arms, thinks of the godswood back home and the voices of his children floating up from the yard, of the day with the wolves and how it started this whole mess.  Of his children, of Robert, of Jon Arryn, of everyone and everything he had ever loved.  He thinks of it, and tries to remember the peace that comes while sitting in the godswood, lets it fill him up so he is not afraid.  When he hears the sword being pulled from the scaffold, he does not flinch, and prides himself on the fact that no one could ever say that he was afraid.

 _I lived with honor,_ He says, this one last truth to himself in the middle of this game of lies, giving himself over to the idea that this was the end   _May I have died with honor, too._

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on Instagram @alwaysscripturient


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